


Smooth

by Zinnith



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis is a beautiful beautiful man, Gen, Humor, Shaving, sort of meta I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinnith/pseuds/Zinnith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aramis' beloved beard falls victim to a dastardly plot. Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/774.html?thread=1159174#cmt1159174
> 
> This is what happens when you look at too many pictures of a clean shaven Santiago Cabrera.
> 
> ETA: This video is also quite relevant to the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kV9O3j9SGM

"You look weird," d'Artagnan states. "I have no idea who you people are."

Athos frowns at the mirror and runs a hand over his clean shaven chin. His cleft lip is much more prominent like this, but under the circumstances it's probably just as well. They're supposed to look less recognizable and shaving certainly has done the trick, if d'Artagnan's reaction is anything to go by.

"Then I'd say we've done a good job of it," Porthos says, echoing Athos' thoughts. He was the first one to remove his whiskers. The shaving cuts have almost stopped bleeding and now he's attempting to hand the razor over to Aramis, who has not left his chair in the corner since they came up with this idea of disguise. "Your turn, brother."

"No," Aramis says. "I will not."

Athos holds back a sigh. The attachment that man has to his beard could probably be considered unhealthy.

"Yes, you will," Athos says.

"One way or another," Porthos supplies with a big grin.

Aramis grips the edge of the chair, as if holding on to it would somehow save him from being forcibly shaved. "No."

d'Artagnan, who has escaped the grooming by virtue of not having much facial hair to begin with, is watching the scene unfold with much amusement.

"It's just a beard, isn't it? It'll grow out again," he says, spreading his arms with that wide-eyed innocent expression of his. Athos still hasn't been able to figure out if it's earnest or if the boy is just constantly taking the piss out out of them all.

Aramis' glare could probably burn through a solid stone wall. " _Just a beard,_ " he scoffs. "A beard is what separates men from boys. You'd see it differently if you were capable of growing your own, whelp."

"Now, now, there's no need for that," Porthos chuckles. "I'm sure it'll start to fill in properly as soon as his balls have dropped." Ignoring d'Artagnans offended noises, he tries to thrust the shaving kit into Aramis' hands again. "Last chance, my friend. Either you shave it yourself, or Athos will hold you down while I do it."

"You," Aramis says, in the tone of voice that usually means someone is about to become terribly hurt. "Will not get anywhere near my face with that thing."

In the end, Aramis shaves, but only under loud protests, with Porthos standing over his shoulder to make sure he won't try to run off before the job is done. Athos only listens with half an ear, too occupied trying to decide which route will get them back to Paris the fastest.

It's only d'Artagnan's choked back giggle that draws Athos' attention away from the map, and when he raises his head he instantly realises exactly why Aramis was so set against this idea.

Without his facial hair, he looks younger than d'Artagnan does. That soft mop of hair, those large dark eyes... he could easily be mistaken for a boy out in the world on his own for the first time.

That, and he's so goddamn beautiful that it could tear the heart from your chest. Not drawing any attention to themselves is going to be a bit of a problem. There's no way people won't turn their heads and stare in wonder at _that_.

"See, that wasn't so bad now, was it?" Porthos says, still with that wide grin of his. He's clearly trying not to laugh, both at Aramis' miserable expression and d'Artagnan's stunned disbelief.

"You... you..." d'Artagnan stutters, and then manages to find his words again with gleeful triumph, obviously prepared to exact revenge for months and months of friendly ribbing about his own youthfulness. "You're so _pretty_!"

Athos can't hold back his smile any longer and Porthos finally breaks down in helpless laughter, his guffawing filling the small room.

Aramis simply says, "I will kill you all in your sleep," and goes back to sulking in the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets his revenge.

Aramis has many good qualities that Athos appreciates. He also has a multitude of bad habits, all of which often serve to make life miserable for those around him. He never met a stupid risk that he wasn't tempted to take. He doesn't have the good sense to duck under fire. He just can't seem to help himself around other men's wives.

He can also be an evil, vindictive little bastard, and right now, Athos hates every bone in his body. 

It's been two weeks. Porthos' face is covered in black scruff again and Athos' own beard is well on its way back to the way it looked before. 

Aramis, well. He gets up every morning and painstakingly shaves off every hint of stubble. He answers to the catcalls and the teasing from the rest of the regiment with blinding smiles and graceful bows. In short, he is a giant pain in their collective behind and there have been more than one time during the past few days when Athos has considered hiding his razor.

It's not just at the garrison. Porthos refuses to walk the town with him anymore. "Every woman in Paris turns and stares when he passes by," he growlingly confides in Athos over a shared bottle of wine. Then he leans over the table and lowers his voice. "And it's not just the _women_. We've got to make him stop."

"I talked to him already," Athos sighs, and he _has_. Or, well. He's dropped a few rather heavy hints. Mentioned more than once that the mission is over and there's no need for disguise any more. Anything else would feel like admitting defeat and letting Aramis win. At this point, he's more or less hoping that Aramis will get bored with the whole thing and let it blow over.

He doesn't. They have palace duty and Athos catches, not only the queen and all her ladies-in-waiting, but the bloody _king_ gazing at Aramis with that now-familiar dreamy expression. They chase a thief through the streets of Paris and the villain stops in his stride with a dumbfounded look on his face as soon as he comes face-to-face with Aramis. All that's left for Athos to do is walk right up to the thief and pluck the stolen jewels out of his hand.

"He's like a secret weapon," d'Artagnan mutters glumly, draining his glass of wine. They've been invited to the Bonacieux for dinner and Constance, sensible level-headed Constance, has spent the entire evening stuttering and blushing and dropping things. 

Athos has more or less resigned himself to the fact that this is their life now when the evening comes that there's a knock on his door and he opens it to find Captain Treville outside.

"Make him stop," the Captain says, his voice as near pleading as Athos has ever heard it. "I can't take him seriously when he looks like that. For the love of God, make him _stop_."

It's an order, more or less, and it's also a bit of relief. If it comes from Treville, Aramis can't very well say no.

The next morning, Aramis collects Porthos and d'Artagnan and they go to find Aramis together, all in agreement that they need to put up a united front. They find him in the garrison yard, cleaning his gun, and distracting the men's sword practice.

"If he does that thing with his eyelashes, just _look away_ ," d'Artagnan cautions as they carefully walk up to him.

There ought to be a law against looking like that. Athos has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath and remind himself that Aramis is has been a soldier longer than any of them. He is strong, he is deadly, and he is very capable. The rumour that there are songs being composed in honour of his beauty is completely irrelevant.

Aramis looks up at them, puts down the gun and... mother of God, does that thing with his eyelashes. "How can I be of service this fine morning?"

The three of them look at each other. d'Artagnan swallows hard. Porthos is the first to cave. "We're sorry we made you shave," he says, teeth clenched and murder in his eyes. "Please grow it out again."

Aramis' smile rivals the sun for brightness. "But of course, gentlemen. You only had to ask." He stands up, gives a little bow and saunters away, whistling.

Athos' fingers itches for his sword and he has to remind himself that skewering your friends is generally frowned upon. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Porthos' hands form into fists and d'Artagnan's arm shoot out to hold him back.

The next day, there's a shadow of stubble around Aramis mouth. A few days later, he's beginning to look his age again. Things get back to normal, for a given value of 'normal', and a new unspoken Musketeer rule is added to the already long list. Under no circumstances is Aramis ever allowed to shave his beard again.


End file.
